Free Off Limits by Lola Darling

wince. This is what I've reduced my best friend to. Thinking I'm dying if I call her out of the blue. "I'm fine," I reassure her quickly. "I was just . . . wondering what you're up to tonight? I finished unexpectedly early," I add, into her surprised silence. "And, I know you and I haven't hung out as much lately as we ought to. I feel really bad about that—sorry, it's so last-minute," I keep rambling, when she doesn't answer at first. "If you've got plans, don't worry about it. Let's plan something for this weekend, or—”
    "No, no, I'm just surprised! But of course, I'd love to hang out. I'm actually down in the Mission right now. Mission Chinese, have you ever been? They've got this cute little speakeasy upstairs, password only. It's a bit loud, maybe not your style. . ." She trails off, sounding worried.
    But I'm grinning. Honestly, I didn't expect to like the sound of something like that, but right now, in whatever mood I'm in, I mean it completely when I answer her, "That sounds perfect, actually. Meet you in twenty?"

    * * *
    T he speakeasy full of specialty cocktails above one of the best, most well-known Chinese restaurants in a city known for good Asian cuisine, turns out to be just what the doctor ordered tonight.
    "They're normally not open tonight, but it's my coworker's birthday," Heather explains over the heavy bass filled music as I join her at a crowded table. She immediately pushes a noodle dish toward me, an old ritual— Heather has never finished a meal she’s ordered at a restaurant in her life. One of those people who actually eats six small meals a day the way doctors tell you that you should, but no sane person actually has time for.
    "Cheers," I tell her as I dig in, and we cheers again a moment later when a waiter arrives to bring me their signature cocktail of the night. I don't ask too many questions about what's in it. Whatever it is—rum, probably—it’s strong, sweet, and exactly the way I like it.
    "So what prompted you to bust out of your cocoon at last, Madame Butterfly?" she asks as we both tip our heads back to take generous swigs of our beverages.
    "A girl can't just miss her best friend?" I point out, and she gives me one of her famous yeah, right side-eyes. I sigh. "Okay, so I had some help. I had a weird encounter with Paul today, he was in one of those, I regret my life choices, don't go down the same path I did, sort of moods."
    "You mean your workaholic boss told you to stop being such a workaholic?" Heather lifts an eyebrow. "Damn, girl. You know it's gotten bad when. . ."
    I grimace. "Yeah. I guess that's why I actually decided to take his advice, actually. I realize if he's telling me to get out of the office, it's about damn time." I shake my head into the cocktail that I've already half-downed. Wow, these things go down easy. "Enough about me. What's going on with you?"
    She opens her mouth to respond when a dark shadow swoops over our table. I barely have time to register the guy leaning across the communal table where I'd joined Heather— tall, dark-haired, with a beaky nose that's handsome in an almost nerdy way—before he's pressing a kiss to her cheek and grinning at her boyishly.
    I lift both eyebrows, barely able to contain a grin when my friend's face bursts into a red flush.
    "Uh. Well, I guess there's that, for starters," she says as the guy sidesteps into the booth beside her and takes a seat. "Chloe, this is Mark."
    He extends a hand across the table, still smiling as we shake. That smile is infectious, for some reason. He just seems so genuinely happy. And when he lazily snakes an arm around Heather's shoulders and she sinks into his side, I can't help but like him already. "Pleasure to meet you, Chloe. I've heard so many good things already."
    Really? Because I haven't heard one about you , I think. But whose fault is that? Heck, even if Heather had mentioned him before, I'd probably been too zoned out to hear her. "Likewise," I lie. "Though, I gotta